


Wanna be your stormy weather

by lovestillaround



Series: bingo fest 2019 [2]
Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Headaches & Migraines, Hurt, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nausea
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-25 00:04:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,503
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20714780
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovestillaround/pseuds/lovestillaround
Summary: Phil doesn’t expect his day to end with a migraine attack





	Wanna be your stormy weather

**Author's Note:**

> for the bingo square: writer's choice (migraine)

There’s one moment when he has the odd, absurd thought that he wants to feel alive again. It’s unreasonable because he isn’t dead, and he also isn’t Dan – he doesn’t question whether his existence is real or not. He thinks briefly of a possible reason for why he would feel this way, and the first thing that comes to his mind is that maybe he has allowed himself to drift a bit too far from reality – by not going outside much, by spending too much time on his phone and laptop, all these trivial things that seem so unimportant yet still are a big part of his days. It doesn’t count as real life for most people, right? Real life is just being – there – where people can see you, doing things, being physically active. Or maybe all these things only count if you’re putting evidence on the internet that you’re doing something or at least tell people, like family or friends, how interesting and busy your life is.

He doesn’t feel like he’s doing much right now. He’s just watching the surroundings, and he wouldn’t even have to be human to do it, he could be any creature with eyes.

It’s dark, it’s evening, it’s the beginning of autumn, and the day is cold. The street lamps radiate the light that is so pleasantly yellow, almost orange, in a stream that creates a funnel turned upside down. You can clearly recognise the edges of the immaterial structures at the top of it, right by the source of the light, you can tell where the light ends and where the darkness begins, but closer to the ground the edges become blurrier, and Phil can’t help but think that this is how Dan’s mind works, or maybe his own, he can’t really tell anymore.

The scene would be quite pretty on its own, but today it seems special because it’s raining. So it’s a stream of light and a stream of rain, coming to the ground at different angles. The raindrops look like lines, perfectly parallel to each other until they touch something solid, and then they splash in all directions. The puddles cast the light and catch the drops, but the pouring rain makes the surface shaky and irregular, so the reflection of the streetlight is trembling in a mesmerising way. Phil can’t tear his gaze away from it. He must look like a lunatic, or maybe like he’s drunk, staring at one point with a probably dead and dull expression on his face. The true reason behind it is that his head hurts.

He got to the pharmacy to buy the painkillers because in all this rush, and with all the different things on his mind, he forgot that they’d ran out of them.

*

“I’ll go buy them,” Dan says, already getting up, as if he knows that he needs to hurry because if he doesn’t, Phil is going to do everything by himself.

“I guess some fresh air might be good for me right now.”

He doesn’t know why he talks so strangely. Who forms sentences like that? The pain moves from his forehead to the top of his head, but at least he’s standing, and he doesn’t feel weak. He’s standing, and he’s all right.

“Want me to go with you?” Dan doesn’t sound alarmed, but he looks quite worried or maybe just insecure, not knowing what to do, not knowing how to approach the situation or how to approach Phil. It’s a little sad, that after all these years they sometimes still don’t know how to act, or maybe it is sad, but at the same time it’s one of those things that keep them together. There’s still room for discovering new things, for change.

“No, I’m good,” he says, smiling. He comes closer and places his hand on Dan’s shoulder, leaning forward to kiss his forehead.

Dan grabs Phil’s other wrist, but only for a short moment, and then lets go of it.

*

Phil takes out the little bottle from the pocket of his coat, opens it, and tries to shake out one pill onto his hand, but instead of just one a few get out, immediately slipping from the inside of his palm onto the ground. His hands start to shake when he tries to put the remaining pills back into the bottle. He must really look like an addict, or like someone who’s really sick, but the most terrifying thing is that he even has thoughts like these, thoughts that are weird and dark, and come out of nowhere. He doesn’t know whether they can be explained in any rational way. His mum would probably say that he watches too many violent and dark films, and he would put it into the imagery drawer of his mind that says _ultimate truths_. There’s no one here to affirm him that everything is fine.

He manages to accomplish what he wants, to have just one tablet on his hand that he then swallows without water. He could cross the street and buy some, but he doesn’t do that. Plastic. Effort.

He’s tired, and he wants to go home.

*

“Wow, you’re wet.”

It isn’t surprising that Dan welcomes him in the hall. He must have been worried, Phil’s aware of that. He’s also aware of his own stubbornness that makes him want to prove to himself that he’s doing good, all the time, that he can do things on his own, and that he’s functional. He wonders how hard it must have been for Dan to rely on other people when he wasn’t feeling well, how hard it must have been to accept help or to ask for it. Phil still needs to learn that skill for himself.

“Yeah, it started raining, like, a few minutes after I left,” he says absentmindedly, hanging off his coat, the one that Dan hates. He’s so buried in his thoughts that he doesn’t realise Dan comes closer until he’s being embraced from behind. It still makes him feel a little mushy inside.

“Are you cold? Do you want some tea?” Dan’s mouth is right by Phil’s neck and the warm air he exhales makes Phil tremble. He automatically wants to explain himself, say _it’s your breath that did it, I’m not cold_, but in the end he doesn’t say that.

“Yeah, that would be nice,” he answers, untangling himself from Dan’s hug.

“How’s your head? Did you take the pill already?”

It’s weird how he forgot that his head was hurting.

*

It comes back before midnight. The pain is located in the front of his head again, on the left side. It feels like only one, rather small spot is hurting, but somehow it’s even worse than as if the pain was spread through his entire head. He can feel the spot shifting when he sits up, or lies down, or even turns his head a little.

Right now, he’s lying on the couch. His phone is on the coffee table, and Phil just stares at it, as if it could make him develop some telekinetic skills. He closes his eyes for a moment, before dragging himself up and reaching out for it. The bright light of the screen hurts his eyes but he texts Dan anyway, asking him to bring the painkillers down to the lounge.

He doesn’t need to wait long. Soon, he hears Dan’s footsteps coming from the staircase, but they seem to create a strange echo in his head. He doesn’t watch, just leans against the backrest, with his eyes closed. The pain immediately gains in intensity, but he knows that if he lies down, he’s going to need to sit up again when Dan comes back. It would mean too much effort, and probably even more pain, so he tries to be strong for a moment.

The footsteps are getting louder and louder, Phil can clearly recognise when Dan enters the room, and then he hears him getting closer and closer. When he opens his eyes, Dan is stood right in front of him, holding the familiar bottle of pills and a glass of water.

“Is it your head again? I thought you were feeling better,” he says, and in that moment Phil wants to disappear.

He doesn’t even have the energy to answer the question, or to explain why it makes him feel worse. He simply reaches out for the glass, and Dan clumsily hands it over. Their hands touch for a bit too long than necessary as Dan cups the back of Phil’s hand, making sure that he doesn’t drop it.

And Phil’s tired. He’s tired, and irritated – at Dan’s wording and at his own stupid body. His own stupid alien shaped head that hurts way too often for no apparent reason. His own stupid head that hurts right now, ruining his evening.

He’s so tired that he only wants to lie down and sleep. Even the glass in his hand feels heavy, so he puts it on his thigh, careful to not spill the drink. The pain now starts to throb, like waves hitting the shore. He feels a bit detached from reality, but at the same time it seems like all his senses are enhanced. He hears the click of the bottle being opened and then the familiar rattle. Their hands briefly touch again when Phil reaches out to take the pill from Dan’s palm.

Swallowing the cold water gives him a momentary sense of relief. He cautiously takes a few deep breaths and downs the rest of the drink. His hand is shaking slightly when he hands the glass back to Dan.

“Do you wanna go to bed?” Dan asks, this time quieter and softer.

Phil nods, immediately regretting it as a wave of nausea overcomes him. It’s the first one today and – he suspects – most likely not the last one.

It looks like a tough night awaits him, and he feels bad – for himself, but also for Dan. He’s sorry for not answering any of his questions. He knows that Dan’s just worried, but he has no energy to talk to him right now. Luckily, Dan seems to sense that.

“Come on,” he says and reaches out to help Phil get up.

When Phil’s finally standing, he realises that his limbs feel terribly weak. He’s experienced it before, it’s probably the beginning of a migraine, he knows that. He always feels horrendously tired from the moment they start. Still, a part of him is convinced that his legs will give out or that he will faint again. A part of him gives into the fear.

Dan doesn’t seem to notice Phil’s internal panic.

“Come on,” he repeats, this time putting his arm around Phil’s lower back and guiding him gently towards the stairs. The gesture borders between embarrassing and comforting.

Dan never lets go, even though Phil’s steps are continuously steady. Phil holds tightly onto the handle as they go up, just to play it safe, but Dan’s arm is still protectively wrapped around his middle. When they’re about halfway up, he thinks he could cry.

He doesn’t even know why it feels so embarrassing to have his boyfriend take care of him. He just wants to feel good. He wants to be alright. If he can’t have that – he wants to at least lie down and curl up into himself because right now walking up the stairs reminds him of that day when he fainted, of the odd pain he felt, and of the overwhelming fear.

(_What if he fainted while he was walking up the stairs? What if it happens now and he pulls Dan down with his limp body?_)

Finally, they reach the bedroom, but then something changes.

Dan flicks on the lights, but they’re too bright. They’re way too bright and they hurt his eyes, his head, his whole body.

“Turn it off,” he whines as he plumps onto the bed, covering his face to protect it from the intrusive brightness. He doesn’t intend for his voice to sound like this – so tiny, high, and miserable – but it just happens.

Dan complies, and his steps are extraordinarily quiet as he comes up to the edge of the bed, but still audible.

“Phil?” he whispers.

Phil needs to take a few deep breaths before he even attempts to answer.

“I need to have a lie down in the dark,” he whispers back eventually, but Dan is still standing by their bed, with no intention to leave the room or to move. So Phil adds, “and in quiet.”

“Can I stay?”

At first, he wants to say no. There’s no reason for Dan to keep him company. Phil can barely even talk because every stimulation of his senses – so much as hearing his own voice – makes the feeling of nausea grow dangerously strong, and it makes the pain pulsate even harder.

But when he opens his eyes, he sees an awkwardly hunched silhouette and that alone is enough to tell him that Dan is just concerned. He’s worried, and he would be probably even more worried if Phil told him to leave.

So he hums a noise that can be recognised as a _yes_ and makes room for Dan to climb on the bed.

They’re facing each other and Phil closes his eyes, trying to relax. It’s hard, because doing absolutely nothing is one of the things that he hates the most. He wishes for a distraction from the pain, but he knows that any light or noise will make him feel worse. He knows that isolating himself from any possible stimuli helps, but lying helplessly, with the only thing that he can concentrate on being the ache, feels like a torture.

Finding a position in which the pain subsides even a little is also difficult, so he spends the next couple of minutes turning around in bed. The truth is that nothing really helps, but when he moves, he can focus on positioning his limbs instead having his full attention on the ache, even if for just a few seconds. He can’t keep lying calmly, but no matter what he does the pain only grows stronger, and after a while he’s wriggling on the bed nearly constantly.

“Phil,” Dan whispers again, but even that quiet sound shoots a wave of pain and nausea through him. He doesn’t remember his migraines ever being that bad.

“Please don’t talk,” he mutters, panic audible in his voice. He doesn’t fully understand why, but he can’t stand any noises right now. He just _can’t_.

He tries to focus on his breathing again, but the pain throbs and throbs, and he feels like he’s slowly losing his sanity. The worst thing is that right now he’s completely helpless. Nothing that he does improves his situation. He’s scared that the pain will not leave, or that it will get worse, but he can’t even imagine going to the A&E in a state like this. He knows that he can’t panic. He just needs to wait it out, praying that he will eventually get better on his own.

At some point he sits up, hoping maybe that would help. It doesn’t. The only thing he achieves is making himself feel even more sick. He sees with the corner of his eye that Dan has sat up too, and for a moment, they both just stay like this.

That is, until Phil’s mouth fills up with saliva and he knows that he’s about to puke.

He isn’t sure how he manages to get out of bed, he only knows that if he doesn’t want to vomit all over himself and the floor, he needs to get to the bathroom as soon as possible.

He has never felt so thankful for having an en-suite.

Their bedroom isn’t covered in absolute darkness, and he’s in the process of wondering whether he will manage to find the door without turning the lights on when a hand touches his shoulder. And that single thing makes everything one hundred times worse.

“Don’t touch me!”

He isn’t sure if his voice is an actual scream or if it only seems like shouting because in his current state every noise he hears is excruciatingly loud. He knows that he shakes Dan’s hand off, and he isn’t even able to offer an apology, he just jolts straight into the bathroom, as quick as his shaky limbs allow him to.

The bathroom doesn’t have any windows and he needs to flick on the light to be able to find the toilet and not trip on the way there, but he feels so bad already that it doesn’t even make things much worse for him.

He drops to his knees and puts his hands on the toilet seat, trying to steady himself. He leans forward and spits, and then spits again, and again, because his mouth immediately fills with new saliva any time he empties it. He’s waiting for the urge to vomit to come, but it doesn’t. All he gets is this salivation, and the trembling of his limbs, and the pain, the everlasting, pounding pain.

*

He eventually gets back to bed. He doesn’t throw up, but Dan gets a bowl and puts it by Phil’s side of the bed anyway.

Dan doesn’t say anything again, and he doesn’t try to touch Phil. He lies down too when Phil does it, but he takes the mere edge of the bed, presumably trying to give Phil as much space as possible.

Phil is eternally grateful. He wishes he could cuddle into Dan’s warmth, but his body has decided to betray him by making him temporarily averse to touch. Or noise. Or smell. Anything, basically. He wishes he could talk to Dan, tell him that he’s going to be okay, that Dan doesn’t have to worry, but he physically can’t.

He never really knew that pain could be so isolating.

So he lies in bed, this time much more still, with his eyes closed, hoping that he would eventually fall asleep.

And at some point, he does.

*

After he wakes up, he isn’t sure if the pain is still there. He opens his eyes and quickly realises that the room is covered in grey and not black, so it must be morning. Dan is asleep beside him, his mouth slightly open, and he's looking serene. This one thing calms Phil down a little.

He turns around carefully, trying to assess his pain level. It’s scary. If the headache is not gone, he might need to go to the hospital again, but he tries to not let himself panic.

His head feels weird – a bit sore, a bit sensitive. He has this strange feeling of something about it being not totally alright – as if his brain grew a bit over the night – but he knows that it’s just a residue of the intense pain he was experiencing for hours. It has happened to him before. He knows this feeling will eventually go away.

Then he tries to sit up. It works pretty well, too. He feels tired, so tired, but the weird sensation inside his skull doesn’t get any worse, the pain doesn’t come back, so he sighs in relief.

The fear that that it will return is still there, hard to ignore with the echo of the last night pain still lingering inside his skull, and then there’s the psychological aspect of it. That whole experience was awful. Scary. He really doesn’t want it to happen again.

He has no idea when Dan has fallen asleep, but he needs some comfort. He also wants to tell Dan that he’s feeling better, because this kind of news is too good to keep it for himself.

Dan’s skin is warm, and he stirs slightly when Phil’s hand travels up his arm. He doesn’t wake up though, not immediately, so Phil starts to play with his curls.

That works much better.

When Dan wakes up, his face expresses confusion for a brief moment, then it quickly turns into worry.

“I’m better,” Phil whispers.

Dan props himself on his elbow, his sleepy eyes analysing Phil thoroughly. “Is your head still hurting?” he asks quietly.

“No, not really. It still feels a bit weird, but I will be okay.”

Dan takes a deep, loud breath. He still looks unsure of what he should do, so Phil pulls him in for a very close hug.

Wrapped in all this warmth, and after what he’s been through last night, he feels like he’s in heaven. It would be a perfect morning if only he wasn’t still scared, and if he wasn’t that exhausted.

“I’m so tired,” he mumbles.

Dan hums sympathetically. “I’m sorry, Phil. That was fucking awful.”

Phil exhales shakily. Dan’s right, it was awful, yet admitting it aloud feels like reaching a level of vulnerability he isn’t ready for.

Dan knows him. He hugs him closer and Phil lets himself be held.

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by the upcoming autumn and my first ever migraine  
title from _Scrambled Inside_ by Pinc Louds (a weird, lovely, and underappreciated band)
> 
> thanks for reading <3 if you liked, you can [reblog the story on tumblr ](https://lovestillaround.tumblr.com/post/187848635983/wanna-be-your-stormy-weather-rating-t-words-35k)


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